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“What the hell, Santos? I’m going to need more than that? What couldn’t be helped exactly?”
“Madelena—”
I put my hand up to stop him and shake my head, so angry I can’t formulate my thoughts into sentences. “You know what? Never mind. It’s not worth it.” I walk past him, but before I’m two steps away, he has me by the arm and is tugging me backward.
“It’s not worth it? What does that mean? This isn’t worth it?”
“Let me go!”
“It’s been a long fucking day—”
“You always seem to have long fucking days!”
“For fuck’s sake!” He shakes his head, exasperated, and takes a breath before continuing. “You’re wrong. It is worth it. I’m sorry I left you on your own, but it couldn’t be helped.”
“What couldn’t be helped?”
His lips tighten and he takes a moment. “I can’t say. I need to figure it out first.”
“Not good enough, Santos. Let me go.” I try to shrug out of his grasp, but he doesn’t let go.
“Tell me about the service. Tell me—”
“If you cared so much, you should have stayed to see it for yourself. Let. Go.”
He walks me backward into the room, and only when I’m backed into a corner does he release me, setting his hands on the wall on either side of my face to cage me in.
“I do care. Don’t you know that yet? Do you get that part in here?” He pokes a finger at the side of my head, and I raise my arm to slap him. Mid-swing, he catches my wrist, never even taking his eyes off me. “Don’t.”
“You’d hit me back, wouldn’t you?”
He shakes his head. “Really? Do you really believe I’d do that to you? Christ, Madelena. Did you hear what I just said?”
I did, but I’m angry and I have a right to be. Unshed tears blur the sight of him. I try to get free, but he doesn’t let me go. I search his face, the forest green of his eyes that are still a mystery to me. That may always be a mystery to me because he can’t seem to let me in. Can’t seem to let me see him, trulyseehim, even though he’s seen me at my most vulnerable.
But when we’re this close and I can feel the heat between us and inhale the scent I love so much, the scent that’s become a refuge over the years, I feel my resolve crumbling.
“Damn you, Santos!”
“Madelena,” he starts, tone different, not so angry. I look away. I don’t want him to watch me cry. But he releases my wrist and touches my jaw, turning my face to make me look at him. “Tell me you know that I care about you.”
“Just let me go.”
“Tell me.”
Only when I meet his eyes does he drop his hand from my jaw.
“Then why did you leave?” I ask, slipping under his arm and hurrying around him, not sure why I’m running, where I’m going to go. Not sure why I’m afraid of this. I vaguely remember last night, remember falling asleep in his arms and hearing my own voice as I spoke those three little words. I thought they were a dream. I hoped they were. But I know better.
“Come here, sweetheart.” Santos’s arm wraps around my waist and he draws me back. Setting the flat of that hand against my stomach, he searches my face, wiping a stray tear, then kisses me deeply. “I heard what you said,” he says, as if reading my mind. He draws back just enough so we are looking at each other.
I blink, shifting my gaze to his mouth, his shoulder, anywhere but his eyes.
“Don’t you know,” he starts, that hand on my stomach sliding to my thigh, into the waistband of the leggings I’d put on when I’d gotten home. As he lowers himself to his knees before me, he draws them down, my panties with them. He kisses my belly button, my stomach, lower.
I suck in a breath, my fingers creeping into his hair. I mean to pry him off, but I don’t.
“Don’t you know I feel the same,” he whispers, breath warm against my clit. “Don’t you know that yet?” His eyes hold mine as he kisses, then licks, then takes the hard nub into his mouth. I’m gasping, knees trembling. “I am on my knees before you, my Madelena. All you have to do is open your eyes and see,” he breathes against me. I moan with pleasure, fingers woven in his hair as he makes love to me with his tongue. Because that’s what this is. This is Santos Augustine making love.
